


Come Running

by standard_deviant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standard_deviant/pseuds/standard_deviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants a taste of "normal" life just as Sam has realized "normal"  is just not in his blood. It goes as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He stood in the doorway, arms folded, gritting his teeth. “I want to know. What does she do that I don’t? You owe me that much!”. Sam had erected a barrier between them. And it went against all his instincts-- all those years of his father’s voice, then his own, saying “Protect Sam, protect him”-- but Dean wouldn’t cross it. Not now. He had no right, not with what he was asking of his baby brother.

Dean scrubbed at his face, blinking back tears furiously, turning away from the light. “Don’t Sam. This is one wound you don’t wanna stick your finger in. Dammit, you had Jess. You had a taste of what you really wanted. And all my life, I’ve been too afraid to want this. For once, I wanna be on the other side of normal, Sammy. You gotta let me do this”, he said wearily.

A harsh laugh erupted from Sam’s throat. He was a head taller than Dean, had been for ages, but for all Dean had called him Sasquatch, teased him about his size, he looked so fucking small now. Shaggy brown hair covering his eyes. Taut muscle pulled thin over his golden 6’4 frame. That sad, tired face Dean remembered from their childhood. Too much. Sam had seen and suffered too much in his life.

“You leave me twisting in the wind and you expect me to be happy for you? Do what you gotta do, man. You play happy families. And do me a favour. Don’t come looking for me when you can’t keep her happy and you’re tired of playing Daddy. When the walls start closing in on you, and you know they will Dean, don’t expect me to rescue you”, Sam warned, green eyes flashing angrily.

This was its own kind of Hell. Seeing his brother’s face contorted with anger and a hurt his own hands had caused. He couldn’t protect him from this, couldn’t comfort him this time. It would have been insulting to try. It was costing Dean so much to hear Sam lay out his deepest fears, such bitterness in his voice. He wanted to believe he was good enough for this white picket fence life, that he wasn’t irreparably damaged by their life as soldiers, as hunters. 

Dean wanted desperately to close the gap between them and pull Sam to him, feeling the familiar weight of his brother’s head on his shoulder. They had been made to fit together and never in a million years did Dean think he’d be the one pulling them apart. Sam leaving him and Dad for Stanford, that was different. Sam had always deserved a normal life, and when he saw his chance to have it, he took it and it hurt Dean in ways he never said, but he understood it. This, what he was doing, was the worst kind of betrayal.

“Please, Sam”, he said haltingly, rising to his feet. And they both knew what he really meant. I love you. You’re my heart. You’re all I have. You’re the only home I’ve ever known.

Shame swirled in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He hated this feeling of quiet desperation starting to settle in his bones. He was hurtling towards thirty, not having known a single normal thing in his life. Been to Hell and back and out the other side. Afraid he couldn’t protect Sam for the rest of their lives. Afraid the end of their lives was just around the corner. He knew what old hunters, if you could call fifty old, were like. Remembering every person they couldn’t save, drinking too much, utterly ruined for love or happiness. Waiting for something they couldn’t catch to finally finish them off.

And there was Lisa. And Ben. And a real house in a nice neighbourhood. Not a roach motel where nine year olds pried whisky bottles from their fathers fingers, laying salt lines along windows and doors. Hunting monsters. He wanted it so badly, all the things he never had. This was not the work of a trickster or djinn. This was real and he was terrified of never getting a chance like this again.

Sam’s face was an unreadable mask as Dean strode over to him. One of the many things he picked up from his brother. Sam shrugged off the hand Dean rested on his shoulder. A corrosive anger burned in him and the last thing he wanted was his older brother’s attempt to take the sting out of the ultimate betrayal.

A look of contempt and pity snaked across Sam’s face. But when he saw the claddagh ring on his brother’s left hand, his breathing hitched. He looked so utterly disarmed. Dean cupped Sam’s face, his ferocious love penetrating Sam’s gaze.

“Look at me Sammy”, he urged. Sam’s green eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he stared at Dean. “Nothing can touch what we have. Nothing, Sammy. Christ, I don’t even know if I can do this. I walk around fucking aching for you. Wake up in the middle of the night and I reach for you, but you’re not there. I could screw this up six ways to Sunday and I know it, “he murmured. 

“I never take this ring off. I don’t ever forget what we promised each other. But I gotta try and make this work, okay?” Dean pleaded, releasing Sam. The anguish etched on Sam’s face nearly had Dean coming undone. Sam nodded, tears catching in his lashes. He bit back a sob and wrapped his arms around Dean, breathing in that leather cotton sweat smell.

The sound of footsteps creeping down the stairs echoed in their ears and Dean pulled away. Lisa came downstairs, bleary eyed in a bath robe and bunny slippers. She squinted at the two of them.

“Hey Sam. Babe, everything okay? I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said, stifling a yawn.  
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and flashed her a smile. “Everything’s fine, Lis. Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute”. She waved goodbye to Sam and trudged upstairs. 

Dean reached for his brother’s hand, but Sam pulled away. “Sorry. I’m sorry”, Dean told him. Sam smiled that half smile of his. The one Dean knew meant “I want you to think everything’s okay, but this hurts so bad and I’m just trying to keep my insides from being my outsides. This is breaking my heart”. He turned the corner and opened the front door. Dean shut it, pinning Sam against the door. He leaned in to kiss him, but Sam moved out of the way. They stood there, watching each other.

Dean came toward his brother once more. Sam shot him a plaintive look and raised both hands in surrender. “Don’t man. Just don’t”. He turned and opened the door again, glancing over his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was brittle and shaky. “You want me to let you go. This is me letting you go”.

The door shut behind him. Dean willed himself not to open it and drag Sam back inside. Instead, he stood there, hand pressed against the door. He heard the screech of tires. Dean locked the door and tried to walk away.

His legs buckled and he slid to the floor. He sat there, clutching his sides. “Sam”, he whispered. The golf ball sized lump in his throat cracked and the tears came. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, tried to stop sound from escaping. When it stopped, he climbed the stairs and got into bed. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Lisa was asleep already. It was the smallest of mercies. Right now, he couldn’t stand to be questioned or touched. His soul had just been ripped from his body.

*************

The last thing Sam wanted was to stop driving. But it was 3 AM and he knew if he didn’t stop now, he’d find himself sleeping in the truck, something his body protested painfully the next day. So he checked into a sketchy motel, a room with one bed, and he salted the doors and windows and tried to ignore the gut-wrenching pain of losing his home/lover/brother/reason for staying alive. And he failed.

Oh God, did he fail. His whole life he belonged in Dean’s arms. At his brother’s side. Lawrence wasn’t really home for him, only the scene of one of a million Winchester family tragedies. They moved around so much, by the time he was five, he knew home would never be a place. For Sam, home was a person. And home had left him now. Dean had left him. To share someone else’s bed, someone else calling out his name. To live the life he secretly wanted but never thought he deserved.

Damned if this wouldn’t hurt less if his brother had cracked his breastbone and cut out his fucking heart. Sam belonged to no one now. Had no one. Utterly alone with the squalor of his devastation, he lay down on the bed and started to howl.

*************

Lisa sighed. This had gone on long enough. She shook Dean gently, trying to rouse him. His skin was cold and clammy. “Dean, wake up honey. Wake up, it’s only a dream,” she murmured. The thrashing beside her stopped. Dean opened his eyes and sat up.”Shit”, he muttered. It was like this every night. He wanted it to stop. He’d rather be haunted by someone dead than someone living any day.

Lisa placed a cool hand on his fevered brow, the only hot place on his body. So full of loving concern that he felt like a dick putting her through this. “It happens every night Dean. The nightmares or whatever they are. It’s been a month. Please, just tell me what’s wrong”, she exclaimed. 

He didn’t let himself think for a minute that he could tell her the truth. So he reached for a convenient half-truth, and he looked at his hands while he spoke. “Me and Sam-“, that name, so precious, caught in his throat and Dean had to start again.

“Me and Sam saved a lot of people. It’s all we were raised to do. But we didn’t save them all. And I can’t forget the ones we almost saved. Can we drop this now?”.

Lisa winced at the bitterness and regret in his voice. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But she had to ask.” So this has nothing to do with Sam? Because you call out his name sometimes. Did you two have a fight or something?”, she queried, watching him. 

Fuck. He couldn’t do this. Dean pulled away from her and got out of bed. He slipped a Motorhead t-shirt over his head and turned to her.” I’m gonna sleep on the couch”, he growled. He headed downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. 

One month. One goddamn month and his easygoing normal guy facade was starting to crack. Being a mechanic and going to Ben’s soccer games and playing nice at barbeques. Pretending he wasn’t thinking about his brother when he fucked Lisa. Dean was sure he could last a month. He had to. There was nowhere left to go.

He locked away the most important parts of himself to stay in this house. Played the smartass grease monkey at work, cracking jokes and having beers with the guys after hours. Didn’t let himself show honest to god anger, no matter what. Never showed fear. Let Ben kick his ass playing Call of Duty. Fucked Lisa like she was the one he really loved.

But he knew he was drowning. Without a sense of purpose. He had that when he had Sam. When he was a hunter. He felt naked most days, stripped of his weapons, but Lisa refused to let him walk around with his gun and his knives. 

She insisted nothing was wrong, nothing was coming after them. So he kept his guns and knives and rock salt and silver bullets in a safe in the basement and tried to convince himself the security he had here wasn’t worth trading for what he’d left. But he never believed it.

*************

Sam hunted with a vengeance. Chupacabras in New Mexico, poltergeists in Salem. He found evil. He killed it. He saved lives. And he pretended that was all his life needed to be. He drank more than Bobby thought was healthy and Missouri left concerned messages that he never returned.

His life became what it had been after Dean died at the Mystery Spot. Regimented, obsessive, hollow. But there was no reason to hope this time. Still, something inside him waited for Dean. He wanted Dean back. Needed him. Selfish bastard he was, he couldn’t live like this, knowing Dean didn’t want or need him. So he found himself a witch. Or rather, she found him. Sam was prepared to sacrifice certain things. And that was fine with her.

*************

A month later, Dean got the call. It was Bobby and Dean knew it was bad. He pulled on jeans and a shirt with one hand, holding his cell in the other. “Just tell me where he is and how bad it is. I’m coming to him”. 

What Bobby told him made no sense. Sam came back from a salt and burn and the next day, he was blind. Dean left a message at work, asking for a week off. He was throwing clothes into his duffel bag when Lisa walked into their room. She let out a weary sigh. “What’s going on, Dean?”

“I’m going to South Dakota. Sam’s sick”, he replied. 

“How long?”

“Until he’s better”, Dean replied tersely. God, he sounded like a dick. “I’m coming back, Lis. I’m not leaving you guys. But this is Sam. I have to go”, he added. 

Her arms were folded across her chest. Yeah, she was pissed. She cocked her head toward the door.” At least say good-bye to Ben before you leave”, she insisted.

It stung that she thought he needed to be told. "You think I’m a total fuck-up? You think I’d do that? Jesus Lisa...”, he groused, grabbing his bag and heading down the hallway to Ben’s room.

He opened the door and walked over to Ben’s bed, sitting on the edge. Ben sat up. In the half light, Dean could tell he was upset. “You’re leaving. You coming back?”, he asked, sounding angry and scared.

“Course, man. I gotta see you win the championships”, he vowed. Ben looked unconvinced. “Is this ‘cause of Mom? You don’t love her anymore or somethin’?”, he inquired.

Dean shook his head. “Ben, I love you guys. Sam’s sick, that’s all. I gotta go see him”. Ben turned away. “Whatever. Just go”, he mumbled.

“I’m coming back Ben. We’ll talk about it when I get home.”. Dean rose from the bed and shut the door. He grabbed his duffel and went downstairs.

Lisa was sitting on the living room couch, waiting for him. “We’re losing you, aren’t we? You don’t know how to live like this. And you don’t want to”, she acknowledged.

He was not in the mood for this. “Christ. Lisa, I don’t have time for this. You wanna talk, we’ll talk when I get back. But don’t lay this shit at my door step right now”, he retorted.

Dean stomped past her to the garage. He shoved his bag in the backseat of the Impala and peeled out onto the street. He didn’t look back, only ahead. He cranked Metallica and ignored the voice inside that told him he might not make it there in time.  
****************

Sam sat in Bobby’s library while Bobby pored over scrolls, websites, and books trying to find a reason for what was happening. He was damn lucky it hadn’t happened on a hunt or he would have been dead and it would have been messy. Luckier still that Bobby had picked him up from the motel and promised to fix this. But he didn’t want Bobby. He wanted Dean. 

Shit. There it was again. His heart beating too fast and it had nothing to do with his thoughts of Dean. Sam tried to suppress the coughing fit that followed, but couldn’t. Bobby poured him a shot of rotgut and placed it in his hand. He downed it and the coughing stopped.

Bobby chuckled with satisfaction, glad there was something he could do to help. Trouble stuck to Winchesters like molasses. Secretly, he was happy. Sam wouldn’t have seen him any other way. Kid was real torn up about something, and if he hadn’t gone blind, Sam would have kept right on going, refusing the help everyone who loved him knew he needed. Something was haunting that boy. 

Sam could hear better now that he was blind, though blind or not, he’d have been hard pressed to ignore the loud creaking and thudding of someone or something bounding up Bobby’s steps. He heard the screen door open, then loud rapid knocking on the wooden door. Sam stood up, but Bobby shoved him back into his chair. “Easy there, Helen. I’ll get it”, he snickered, walking to the door. 

Bobby unlocked the deadbolts and unchained the door. His visitor entered and followed him to the library. Sam’s heart collided with his ribcage. That smell. “Dean?”

“Yeah Sammy, it’s me. Can’t leave you alone for a minute, huh?”, he muttered, slapping his brother on the back. Sam erupted into another coughing fit. He could practically feel Dean’s concerned stare. Dean rubbed his back, but Sam moved out of reach. “Why are you here?”, he spat out. 

Bobby snapped at Sam before Dean could answer. “Because I called him, idjit. Now, I dunno what happened between you two and I ain’t askin. But he’s your brother and you need help, so shut up and be grateful he came”. He left the room and climbed the stairs to the basement. 

It was a hell of a lot harder for Sam to ignore the Dean-sized hole in his life with his brother so close by. And he should have been happy. But when all this was over, Dean was leaving him again. And maybe that was worse than if he hadn’t come at all.

The anger Sam had been feeding since Dean left surged within him. He didn’t want bits and pieces of Dean’s life. He didn’t want Lisa’s fucking leftovers. And anger was always easier for Winchester men than fear or hurt or shame, so Sam stuck with family tradition. 

“You didn’t have to come here. Bobby and I can handle this, so why don’t you run back to your normal life?”, Sam seethed.  
He miscalculated his brother’s response. Dean pulled him out of the chair by his shirt collar. “You run your mouth all you want, Sam. You’re ever hurt, you ever need me, I’ll come running. Or maybe you forgot that”, he roared, shaking Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly, Sam was irrationally jealous of Bobby. Dean was right here, after a nightmarish month which Sam had spent sleeping alone in beds that didn’t smell like home, without the gentle huffs of Dean’s breath to sing him to sleep, fending off suffocating grief. And now that Dean was here, Sam couldn’t see him. And it stung not to see the gleam in Dean’s eyes that meant “You got yourself into a pile of trouble baby brother, but I’ll get you out of it. We’re gonna laugh about this someday”. He missed the sight of Dean’s expertly spiked hair and the way he carried himself, an easy stance that belied the Marine training John had insisted on, which had long since become muscle memory for Dean. 

More than anything, Sam wanted to lean into the warmth of his brother’s body. Instead, he shrugged him off, took a step back. “Don’t talk to me about forgetting what’s important, man.”

Frustrated, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. “Bobby find any lore on what could cause something like this?”  
Sam shook his head. “Nothing. No creature he’s ever heard of. And yeah, I’m blind, but I still have eyes, so I think we can rule out angels.”

“So it’s not a bunch of dicks with wings. You piss anybody off lately?” Dean asked.

Sam took a minute to consider it. “No, no one who’s not dead already. I’ve done this before. Everything’s the same”, he insisted.  
Yeah, it was the same. Sure it was. Find a case, work the case. Hunt the evil, kill it. Kill it all by yourself and don’t think about why you’re alone. You have to remember on every damn hunt that you have no backup, your prince isn’t coming. Dean doesn’t have your back, so you better not screw it up.

After he wiped off the gore and graveyard dirt, Sam had a rhythm. Shower. Change. Go to a bar and pick a fight or pick up some guy whose name he forgot even while the guy introduced himself. Have hatesex in an alley or the backseat of a car while every cell in his body screamed wrong because this wasn’t Dean. Dean who knew every scar and freckle, every moan and whimper like it was threaded through his own DNA. Dean lived on the edges of his mind in those moments. Sam could hear him saying “He’ll never be me”. 

Just the thought gave Sam chest pains and he could feel Dean eyeing him hawkishly while he felt for a chair and sat down. “ ‘m fine Dean. Don’t look at me like I’m on my deathbed. You’re worse than Bobby.”

Reluctantly, Dean pulled up a chair. “So, where’ve you been lately?”

“I put down a nest of chupacabras in New Mexico, then some poltergeists in Salem. After that, I took out a pair of mountain sidhe in Montana. Oh, I saw the world’s largest ball of twine, just for old time’s sake. It seemed bigger when I was 9. Then I swung by Rhiannon’s. Picked up a case the next day and the rest is history”, he summarized.

Sam could picture Dean’s frown. He couldn’t place the name. “Rhiannon Greenwood. The blacksmith. Redhead. Witch. She made that falcata for us when we were hunting Macha. Ring any bells?”

“Big boobs? Leather? Hot daughters?”, Dean queried.

Sam snorted. “Yeah, that’s what narrows it down for you. Because we know so many blacksmiths. Those girls were jailbait, Dean”, he muttered, exasperated.

“Whatever. So what, you were on some Excalibur adventure, getting something forged?”

Sam shook his head. “No. She had some old books and charms that used to belong to Dad. And there was a haunting at a local historical site. Some pioneer village. I picked up Dad’s stuff and took care of the spirits for her”. 

Bobby appeared in the doorway, beers in hand. “If you two are finished the sharing and caring section of the day, maybe we can get to work”, he grunted, pressing a beer into each man’s hand. He directed Dean to a pile of dusty tomes with a look that brooked no complaints. 

While Dean flipped through books, one after another, Bobby interrogated Sam on his symptoms and everything he’d done in the last week. Blindness, chest pain and abdominal pain didn’t add up to any supernaturally induced illness they’d heard of, so Dean switched to medical encyclopaedias and diagnostic manuals. And Sam hadn’t done anything weird lately. Well, not hunter weird. Bobby called around, but none of his sources had heard of anything that sounded remotely like Sam’s situation. For the time being, they were at a loss.  
*****

After a few days, the air took on a restless quality whenever they were in the same room together. It felt a hell of a lot like the air did before one of God’s travelling salesmen made an appearance. Bobby was having none of it, so he spent his days in the salvage yard trying to redeem a rusted orange Trans Am. Things were going to come to a head. It was only a matter of time.

Dean walked in on Sam, clad only in faded jeans, wrapping an Ace bandage around his ribs. He tried to hide that unbidden intake of breath. How the sight of his brother’s body was heaven, hell and home wrapped up in one sleek, familiar place. This was a door locked against him. No skeleton key for this lock. He glared at Sam’s clavicle. “What the fuck is this?”

Sam snorted and pinned the bandage in place. “Uh, blind guy. I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific”.

“Your chest. You’re all marked up”, Dean growled.

Sam pulled on a grey t-shirt, then got to work buttoning a plaid work shirt. “Comes with the territory, Dean. You know that”, he replied, detached.

“Bite marks. Really, Sam? You get attacked by the spirit of an angry squirrel?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that? Let it go”, Sam demanded. 

Dean pressed hard against a reddish purple mark and Sam hissed. Startled, Sam pushed him back, but Dean held his ground, shoving Sam into the wall. Sam struggled, but one well-placed jab to the ribs stilled him. 

“You didn’t mind me covered in bite marks and bruises when you were the one who put them there. I’m not apologizing for anything and I sure as hell don’t owe you an explanation. You wanted out and now you’re out, so you don’t get a vote on how I live my life. I’m not gonna wait around and save myself for you”, Sam shouted. 

“You’re not gonna save yourself for me? You’re mine, Sam. Always will be. Doesn’t matter who’s between your legs. There’s not a single part of you that doesn’t remember me. I’m not out. Not by a longshot”, Dean snarled.

Sam’s pulse was racing, skin crackling electric. Dean nudged Sam’s legs apart and reached for the waistband of his jeans. His hand grazed Sam’s cock and Sam twitched.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert standard disclaimer here. Sam, Dean, and Bobby belong to Eric Kripke; I'm just playing in his sandbox for a while. If the brothers Winchester were mine (and not fictional), I'd be in a Sam Dean sandwich like ALL THE TIME. Rhiannon, Bridget and Morgan Greenwood are mine, however.

“Fuck you”, Sam murmured hoarsely. “You don’t get to do that. Not anymore. You broke whatever we had, and I didn’t think anything could break us. Not Dad. Not Hell. Not the damn Apocalypse. And all it took was Barbie in yoga pants.”

“You wanna know why we are where we are? Cos I got tired of being walked out on like some fuckin B movie every time you got bored. I got sick of watching you walk away from me. Say what you want about Lisa; she doesn’t act like I’m a damn participation trophy. She’s not waiting for something better to come along, which is more than I could ever say for your sorry ass. That’s about the size of it, Sam”, Dean retorted.

Bobby cleared his throat. “ ‘bout damn time. I’m tired of watchin you two dance around whatever it is that’s chappin’ your asses. I hate to break up a family reunion, but I got news. I called Rhiannon and she said she’d do her damnedest to help. Said she owes you. I know Rhiannon. She ain’t Missouri, but as psychics go, she’s damn good. If it’s a curse or some kinda spell, she’ll be able to see it. I’ll call and let her know you’re on your way”, Bobby suggested.

“Road trip. Awesome. We’re taking my car”, Dean insisted. 

As soon as Sam was dressed and his bag was packed, they were on the road. Dean was blasting Metallica at a volume wholly unsuitable for anything other than stirring up fratricidal rage in Sam. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam, daring him to say something, to dive on the unexploded landmine between them. Sam did his best not to take the bait. It was gonna be a long, uncomfortable drive.  
*****

_Two years ago_

 

The sun was well on its way to setting when they arrived at the farm house. Dean was immediately distracted by the three tall redheads who came out of the house at the sound of a car spraying up gravel in the driveway. 

Sam glanced at his brother. “Are you sure this is the place?”

Dean chuckled. “It speaks. Look, these are the coordinates Dad gave. Plus, hot chicks. Let’s go, Sammy”. He was out of the car in a flash. Sam followed suit.

The tallest woman came down to meet them. She attacked Sam with a bear hug until he emitted an unmanly yelp. “Look at you! Little Sammy Winchester, all grown up. Last time I saw you, you were knee high to a grasshopper”, she exclaimed, a touch of Southern drawl in her voice.

Sam blushed and backed away slightly. Dean cleared his throat and the woman took in their confused looks. She sighed and shook her head. “Lemme guess. Y’all don’t know who I am. All your daddy gave you was coordinates?”

Sam nodded. “That man is one secretive sonofabitch. Name’s Rhiannon Greenwood”, she said, giving Dean’s hand a firm shake. She squeezed tighter when she caught him staring down her snug leather vest. 

He winced and met her gaze. Laughing, she released her grip. “Some things never change. Did the same thing first time we met, Dean. Course, we lived in Georgia then. Now, you boys grab your bags and get your butts in that house. Your daddy would have my ass if I let his babies stay in a motel”. 

They grabbed their bags and followed her into the house. Dean noticed the cauldron, broom, and abundance of pentacles decorating the living room.

“ You're witches?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing Rhiannon. Witches were not his favourite people. They were all entrails and disemboweled pets.

“For farther back than I can count. Hunters are always leery of us, but we’re not the black mass, invoke Satan type. I’m a blacksmith to boot. Forged some mighty powerful weapons. That’s how I met your daddy”, she murmured proudly.

She continued. “You boys can rest a spell. You’re not on the job here. I’ve got some things John wants you to have. Wasn’t safe to leave ‘em in storage. Now, enough shop talk. Bridget, Morgan, get in here. We’ve got company”, she called.

Two girls, almost Sam’s height, traipsed in. Rhiannon beamed with pride. “These are my daughters. Girls, these are John Winchester’s boys, Sam and Dean”. 

She stared pointedly at Dean for a minute. “You keep your hands and eyes to yourself, young man. I don’t care what their fake ID says; they’re underage”.

Bridget, who had been staring worshipfully at Sam, turned beet red and stared at the floor. Morgan, who had her eye on Dean, and a playful gleam in her eye, huffed. “I swear Mama, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do”, she protested.

Her mother let out a laugh. “Well darling, that’s not a great comfort to me. Go tell your aunt that we’re having dinner guests. Bridget can show you boys to your rooms”. 

Sam and Dean picked up their bags and followed Bridget up the stairs. Protection sigils framed like artwork hung throughout the upstairs, as did Celtic knotwork. Bridget saw them staring at the knotwork. “It’s supposed to repel negativity and the evil eye”, she explained.

They walked past a purple bedroom, walls covered with posters of broody shirtless actors. Bridget sighed. “ That’s Morgan’s room. She’s boy-crazy. It drives Mama nuts. Mama says if she didn’t know better, she’d swear Morgan was part succubus”. Dean grinned.  
*****

 

An hour into the trip, Sam was lulled to sleep by the familiar purr of the Impala’s engine. The way Dean drove, they made good time. “Yo, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here. It’s your lucky day, man. Now you can get a piece of that hot MILF action”, Dean leered. 

Even though he was blind, Sam still gave bitchface like nobody’s business. “You’re a douche. Try to be a normal person for like five minutes. Just try”, Sam proposed, trying to get out of the car. He managed to get upright on his own, which was a win, but had no idea how he was going to make it to the house without help, which was a bit of a problem. Before he had to figure it out, he felt Dean’s hand rest on his elbow, gently guiding him in what he hoped was the right direction. 

It would be just like his brother to pull some stupid trick and spin him around in circles to get him to walk into a tree or step in a pile of horse shit. Dean must have sensed Sam’s apprehension. “I’m not trying to fuck with you, man. I’m just trying to help, so don’t get your panties in a twist. Watch the stairs,” he instructed. 

Rhiannon welcomed them into the living room. Dean gratefully accepted a proffered beer and made small talk. Sam was polite, but quiet. Finally, Rhiannon cut the bullshit. “Bobby says you’re blind. At the risk of sounding simple, how blind are we talkin’?” she asked.

Dean snorted. “Blind blind. Stevie Wonder, Helen Keller blind”. 

Rhiannon glared at him and took a seat beside Sam on the couch. “Don’t sass me, boy. You’re not too old for me to take a switch to. Now Sam, this happened after the last time you came to see me?”

“Yeah. I’ve been like this for a week. We scoured Bobby’s library and found nothing. I’d ask Missouri, but she’s on vacation. I just wanna get back to normal and find another hunt”, he said.

She smiled kindly. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Sam. Whatever’s wrong with you, we’ll get to the bottom of it. I’d like to do a quick psychic scan to see if any hostile spirits or energies have attached themselves to you. It’s not invasive, and I’m not gonna pry. Just take my hand and relax”, she explained.

Sam sat back and took her hand. He brought his attention to his breath and tried to calm his mind. Rhiannon smelled like vanilla beans and clean laundry. Slowly, Sam felt a swirl of warmth in his chest. It travelled down to his gut. The warmth continued to build. He felt sick. “Uh, Rhiannon, I don’t feel so hot”, he confessed.

Her body was tense, her breathing slightly faster. “Rhiannon?”

The warmth began to fade and she let go of his hand. “ I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Dammit, I’m sorry Sam. This is my fault. I know who’s responsible”, she acknowledged.


	4. Chapter 4

She was livid. That much was clear. “Bridget Guinevere, you get your ass in here right now!”, she yelled.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Bridget entered the room, looking chastened. Rhiannon was positively radiating a look of fury and disappointment. Dean knew that look. Sam had earned it plenty of times. He’d earned it a few himself.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything you’d like to tell me. Or maybe there’s something you want to say to Sam”, Rhiannon seethed, gesturing in Sam’s direction. 

Bridget stared at her feet. “Mama, you said- You said the right thing to do is help people when they’re in pain”, she stammered, shoving her hands into her pockets. 

“I said we help people. If they ask for it. We do not meddle in other people’s lives, girl. And we certainly don’t strike people blind for the hell of it. There is a natural order. There are consequences”, Rhiannon insisted.

Finally, Sam interjected. “Bridget, I’m not mad, okay? I just need to know how to fix this. I’m not much help to anybody if I can’t see, alright? It kinda gives the bad guys an unfair advantage”, he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I was trying to help, Sam. The last time you were here, I could tell you were hurt. Something inside of you feels like it’s broken. Someone hurt you and I thought I could fix it by myself”, Bridge said timidly. Sam paled, but said nothing. 

Dean was sizing up Bridget. “It was you? You pulled a Practical Magic on his ass?” Dean asked, incredulous. 

Rhiannon gawked at him and Sam gave him bitchface. “Don’t judge. It’s Nicole Kidman. So Tabitha, you remember the mojo you worked?”

Rhiannon shot him a withering look. Bridget was quiet, mental wheels spinning.

She brightened. “I remember it.  
Wounded heart quicken, wounded body sicken. Until he speaks his truth, his path will not be smooth. When his true heart’s desire he speaks, his beloved’s passion will peak. He will find the peace and love he seeks, his fortune grow and good luck flow.”

“A love spell? You cast a love spell for Sam without permission. Young lady, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you. You do not dabble in necromancy and you do not dabble in love magick. It is powerful, it is dangerous and it can go very wrong very quickly. After we reverse this, you’re grounded,” Rhiannon vowed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were always going to end up exactly here.

Rhiannon insisted they stay for dinner. They had to wait for nightfall to reverse the spell anyway. It was a stilted and awkward affair, even for the circumstances. Bridget was sent to her room. Rhiannon and Sam went to the altar room, while Dean flipped through back issues of Pagan Voice and tried not to think about how right it felt to have Sam at his side. 

When the two emerged a while later, they said their goodbyes and Rhiannon sent them off with a homemade wildberry cobbler. She looked embarrassed.

“Sam, I am so sorry about all of this. She could have gotten you killed. You try your best and you think you’re raising them right and then something like this happens and you wonder”, she confided.

“She’s a good kid, Rhiannon. She was trying to help, and if you raised a kid who tries to help people who are hurt, you’ve done more than most.”

There was something more she wanted to say. She just wasn’t sure if it was her place. “It’s none of my business. Whatever was hurting you, whoever broke your heart, well, you deserve better. You deserve peace, sugar. You Winchesters do a lot of good for this world. You stir up a lot of shit too, but you try to do right by the folks who need you. Don’t let that pain eat you alive”, she said, hugging him. 

Suddenly, Dean found the grain of the hardwood floor very interesting.

*****

 

The drive back to Bobby’s was quiet, except for the din of Motorhead. Sam broke the silence. “So, I guess now that things are back to normal, you’re gonna go."

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, I gotta get back to the garage. And Ben has his soccer championships. You know you can call if you need to”, he offered.

“No, I can’t”, Sam insisted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You know how to work a phone, Sam” Dean grumbled.

“ I can’t, man. It means a lot that you showed up, but I don’t expect anything more from you. If I start thinking you’re gonna be there when I need you, it’s gonna wreck me. Cos you won’t be there”, Sam insisted.

*****

 

When Dean came home, he tried harder. He brought Lisa flowers and helped Ben with his homework. He was carpool dad for soccer practice. Sent Ben to spend the night at a friend’s place and fucked Lisa against every flat surface in the house. 

At first she was cautious; it was so unexpected. But caution gave way to relief. Dean had finally come around and learned how to live in one place. He wasn’t running from anything, she thought. He really wanted to be here.

Lisa did what she had wanted to do since he’d shown up on her doorstep. She let herself believe that he was healing and she had healed him. She let herself believe that he had changed. In retrospect, it was always going to end this way. They were always going to end up exactly here. 

*****

 

Lisa was out for girl’s night when Sam called. Dean had just put Ben to bed. Dean could practically hear the lump in Sam’s throat. His voice sounded broken, rusted with disuse. “Come home, Dean. Please. I don’t wanna wear anyone else’s bruises. I just want you. I won’t fuck it up this time, I promise you”, he choked out.

“You sound like hell. It wasn’t you. You didn’t fuck it up. You know that, man.” Dean grabbed his beer and headed outside to the back porch. 

“ I’ll never lie to you. I’ll never leave again. If you wanna settle down somewhere, we’ll find a place. Put down roots. Just come home, okay?” Sam pleaded.

Dean had to steel himself against the threat of his knees buckling, sliding to the floor. “Yeah. Okay. Tell me where you are”, he relented. 

He said yes because Lisa could never fill that hole inside him. He could never let her. She was a lot of things, a lot of good things, but she was never gonna feel like home under his fingers. And he said yes because sometimes he’d catch himself grinding his teeth; the itch under his skin from staying in one place, from trying to convince everyone he knew that he wasn’t who he knew himself to be was so goddamn strong.

He went down to the basement, opened the gun safe and started to pack.

*****

 

Lisa was calm when he told her he was leaving. “You know that if you go now, you’re never going to get free from that life. I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought that’s why you were here.” It wasn’t malice, it was truth. 

“Lis, you’re lying to yourself if you think anyone gets free. The hunter retirement plan sucks. It’s a bottle of Jim Beam by your bed and a shotgun under your pillow.”

“You still have the nightmares. They have to stop eventually. You could see someone to talk about them”, she reasoned.

Dean slammed his fist down on the counter, making her jump. “The nightmares are my life, Lisa. They’re not gonna stop. They’re the smallest fucking way that I pay for everything I’ve ever done”, he reminded her, and he hated the scared look in her eyes when he said it.

“Are you sure that this is what you want? I know you’re trying. I see that. Maybe you just need to keep trying. It takes time to learn how to do something new.”

He actually couldn’t look at her right now. “I tried. The harder I try, the more I worry I’m gonna screw up. This life isn’t who I am and time’s not gonna change that. I have to rein in so much of myself to be someone who can sleep under this roof. I never should have come here”, he realized.

Lisa wanted to cover her ears and shut him out. He wasn’t being cruel. He wasn’t saying anything that she didn’t already know, but it still stung. Ben was going to be crushed, and for a while so was she. She tried not to be jealous of Sam, tried not to hate him, but why else would Dean leave? 

“I’m not saying this to be a bitch, but you have to know that if you leave, you’re not coming back. We’re not gonna be a stopover on your way back to your old life. I can’t let you do that to my kid.”

Dean shook his head. “I know. I’m not expecting an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“So when are you leaving? I don’t want to drag this out. It’s gonna be hard enough as it is”, she admitted.

“I was gonna wait until Ben got home from school. I should say goodbye to him.”

Nicely done, Dean. Wait for the kid to come home, then walk out of his life forever. There was nothing left to say.

“ I know this sucks, alright? I know what a shitty person I am, Lisa. You’re the last person to deserve this.”

Still silence.

“ When you were out, I put up some sigils. There’s a hex bag in your bedroom and in Ben’s. I’m leaving you a gun. Let me show you how to load it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have to use a skeleton key to get in, maybe it's not home anymore. Dean and Sam try to make it work, but the bridge between them isn't so much on fire as it is a smoldering pile of ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad writer, making you wait days for the next chapter. The wait was worth it, I promise. Your kudos warm the cockles of my tar black heart.

They met up in Grand Forks at a cabin that had belonged to John’s father. They had been there a few times when they were children, but not long enough for the place to be papered over with painful memories. For that, they were both silently grateful. If anyone knew that ghosts stood on every street corner, waiting to spill their secrets and trying to be heard, it was them. There was no place on this earth where it was possible to start over on a blank slate. Blood and tears were soaked into every inch. Sometimes the best you can do is choose a place where the ghosts whisper instead of scream and the blood washes away.

Dean was distant. Sam had expected that. It was fucking Pavlovian, what they had. Sam had called Dean crying, begging him to come back, and Dean had agreed, because for all he’d wanted a life for himself, it had been programmed into him to help Sam, to take care of him, to be strong for him. And that was disturbed and sad in ways they both knew but never spoke of. Whether Sam had been trying to manipulate him or not, he used Dean’s name like a choke chain to bring him back when he strayed. It made Sam feel guilty. Just not guilty enough to stop.

The first week was easier than Sam had expected. They fell into an easy rhythm of sleeping late, having breakfast at the local diner and looking for nearby hunts. By all rights, it should have gotten easier from there. But he started to grate on Dean. Their conversations became Sam’s valiant attempts to placate him, to get more than monosyllabic grunts in response. Eventually, Dean would grab the keys, start up his baby and head for the closest bar, a place called Jimmy’s which made the Roadhouse look like Trump Towers. 

After a week straight of this, Sam was tired. Dean hadn’t touched him since they’d moved in. Whenever Sam tried to touch him, he withdrew. He’d turn on the television to watch a muscle car repair show or grab a copy of Busty Asian Beauties and lock his door, only coming out to grab another beer. Sam couldn’t choke back the uneasy feeling in his throat. He wasn’t holding Dean hostage. He wasn’t. So why did this feel like a terrible mistake?

He could feel himself becoming some pale imitation of himself, trying so hard to please Dean. He brought home Dean’s favourite kinds of pie, did all their laundry without a word, made sure there was always a six pack in the fridge. The whole time he couldn’t stop wondering what he’d done wrong. Maybe it wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong. Maybe he and Dean were wrong now and all he got back was his brother. No lover.

*****

 

Sam turned it over in his head as he sat by the door, waiting for Dean to come back. At 3 AM, he came back smelling like tequila, smoke and beer. “You waited up for me? You shouldn’t have Samantha,” he jeered. 

“Sit down. We need to talk, Dean”, Sam said quietly.

Dean stayed close to the door, and leaned against a wall. That was him. There was always a bag packed, always a plan B for when he needed an easy way out. “I knew it. You should see the look on your face right now. So what is this, Sam, intervention time? Save your breath”, he grunted. 

“Do you want to be here?”

Dean grimaced. “Jesus Christ, I’m not doing this with you. I’m going to bed”.

“Yeah, fine. Go to bed. After you answer me. It’s not a trick question”, Sam murmured. He stood, blocking Dean’s path to his bedroom.  


“Get out of my way. I came here, didn’t I? You begged me to leave and I did. Now move”, Dean snarled, shoving Sam aside.

It hurt. It was a dirty little jab and Dean had meant it to hurt and it did. “So that’s the only reason you’re here”. He didn’t want to ask. It felt like a bad omen to even think it, but it deserved an answer. “Do you love me?”

"Fuck you, Sam. Have your chick flick moment with somebody else”.

In that moment, Sam heard a whooshing noise that probably wasn’t real. It felt like all the air had gone out of the room. A feverish feeling of queasiness came over him. “That sounds a hell of a lot like no. There was one question I didn’t ask you. I’ve got nothing to lose now, so why not, right? Tell me, Dean. Why was I so easy to leave?”

Dean’s fist collided with Sam’s jaw and he tasted blood. Sam hit the ground, and Dean crashed down on top of him. His hands found Sam’s wrists and pinned him in place. “You asshole! You fucking asshole! That whole time, I never got the taste of you out of my mouth. Never got you out from under my skin. I missed you like a fucking limb”, he shouted.

Sam stilled beneath him. “But you stayed with her”, he whispered. Dean’s warm tequila breath ghosted over his cheek. “Where was I gonna go? I ended us, Sam. I left you by the side of the road like a bag of trash. I don’t have a goddamn home without you, man”, Dean lamented.

“Do you still love me?”, Sam asked haltingly. Dean’s mouth crashed down on his, sour with booze, his own mouth copper and blood. It was urgent and messy, teeth and tongues and need. 

“Ask me again, bitch”.

Sam laughed, pulling his wrists free of Dean’s hands so they could trace protection sigils on his brother’s skin. “Jerk”.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys don't do anything by halves, do they? Sam takes reconciliation very seriously. Dean, not so much. Light on angst.

Daybreak was unkind to Dean. He woke up sore and hot, shirtless and tangled in sheets. Pieces of last night came back to him as the sunlight assaulted his eyes. He shielded his eyes with his forearm and turned to his other side. 

The other side of the bed was empty. The bed next to his was empty. He woke up alone. He definitely remembered that he hadn’t gone to bed alone. Where was Sam? They had made up last night, that much he remembered. But he had punched Sam. Awesome. 

As if on cue, the door creaked open and Sam came in holding a huge paper bag. The twin smells of coffee and bacon beckoned to Dean. He sat up, back protesting the sudden movement and tried to grin at Sam. It came out as a wince. “Breakfast, Sammy? You tryin’ to get in my pants? I could kiss you. C’mere.”

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “Rain check? Your face is kinda grey. You look like you’re gonna hurl”, Sam said gently. Dean’s stomach lurched and he stumbled to the bathroom. “ – was fine until you mentioned it”, he groaned. Through the bathroom door, Sam could hear the telltale sounds of his brother vomiting. 

Sam turned on the TV to muffle the sound and tried to focus on setting the table. He had brought Dean flowers. As he stuck them in an old bottle of Johnny Walker, he couldn’t help but smile. Yes, he was overcompensating in a big way. And Dean was going to tease him endlessly for it. But he was going to make things right between them. “There’s Pepto-Bismol and Advil in the medicine chest”, he reminded Dean. 

There was the sound of pill bottles falling to the ground, running water and some cursing. Then Dean came out, looking slightly more human. He looked at the table, then at Sam, then at the flowers in the Johnny Walker bottle. “Dude, you brought me flowers. What the hell? Are you wooing me?” he asked, perplexed.

Sam was honest to God blushing. “Think of it as a fresh start. I brought you cherry pie. Sit and eat your breakfast”, he replied, pulling out a chair for Dean. Dean sat down, eyeing him warily. “You’re kinda creeping me out here, man”. 

Once Dean had a mouthful of pie, he changed his tune. “I take it back. Woo me all you want. Best pie ever”.

There was no playbook for this situation. No one had written a book on what to do when your brother breaks up with you so he can play house with an old one night stand and prove to himself he’s not as broken as he’s afraid of, then you ache for him like he’s dead and you beg him to come back and he does and you try to calculate all the ways it can go wrong this time, so you can do it all right this time.

Sam was trying valiantly to stay calm, but his palms were sweaty and his throat was parched. It reminded him vaguely of how he felt before he took his LSATs. But this time, there was no one to reassure him that he was gonna ace this, that if he didn’t, he could try again. 

Dean sighed. “Would you sit already? You’re pacing like you should be up in a bell tower with a rifle and a trench coat”, he complained. 

Sam obeyed and dug into his French toast. “This place is nice, but I keep expecting an axe-wielding psycho to jump out of the trees. We’re so far from actual civilization I feel like we should be stockpiling bottled water and ammo for Armageddon. So I was thinking maybe we could swing by California”, he suggested. 

“You found us a case already. So what is it? Haunted strip club?” Dean teased.  


Sam smiled nervously. “No, no case. I just thought that maybe we could, you know, spend some time together. Just being together, not killing things”, he said hopefully.

“And then we can hold hands and run through a field of wheat and exchange promise rings. Could you be more queer?”

Sam was rapidly losing his nerve. This was starting to seem like a bad idea. “Forget about it. It was a stupid idea. I’ll call Bobby after breakfast and find us a hunt”, he said, stabbing at a piece of toast.

Dean’s head shot up and the forkful of home fries en route to his mouth clattered onto his plate. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m too damn hungover for this. Things aren’t gonna be perfect. We’re not gonna be perfect, alright?” he snapped.

Sam hung his head and pushed his food around on his plate. They were off to a great fucking start with this blank slate of theirs. Dean’s chair scraped against the floor as he got up from the table. He yanked Sam out of his seat. “I get it, man. I don’t wanna screw this up either. But I’m not gonna leave just cos you stop doing the laundry or forget to pick up beer. I’m here cos you’re here”, he confided, slipping his hands into Sam’s pockets.

No blood or booze in this kiss. He’d forgotten how soft Sam’s lips were. This was reassurance and promise and heat. Sam yielded to him, like he always had before. His boy was always hungry for him. His boy. “Mine”, Dean growled, nipping at Sam’s neck.

“Yours”, Sam muttered hoarsely. 

Sam twitched as his phone began to vibrate in his front pocket. Dean reached in and turned it off.

“You taste like icing sugar, Sammy”, Dean commented, licking at Sam’s lips. 

“Hey, the way to your heart has always been through your stomach. It’s not my fault you’re an easy lay”, he joked.

“So, California, huh?”

“We don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to”, Sam reminded him. 

Dean chuckled. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I got plans for us today”. 

Sam stared at him confused. Dean’s hands were on Sam’s waist, undoing his belt buckle. “I think I like this plan”.


End file.
